


stellar love

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [110]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Camping, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stargazing, it's all about the Emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21566725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: “We’re going camping,” Hermann says.Newt gives him a flat stare. “Camping?” he says.“Trust me, you’re just as surprised as I am,” Hermann shoots back. “Now come help me load these things into the car, Newton.”
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [110]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Kudos: 37





	stellar love

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "How about this for a prompt? "Oh, Newt. You never met a monster you couldn't love.”"

The thing is; Newton Geiszler has always been larger than life; has always been the one to plunge head-first into danger with a smile and loudly proclaim, “I’m gonna be a rockstar!”, his nose bloodied and eyes blood-shot and his nails painted in chipped black nail-polish bought from the only convenience store still open.

The thing is; Newton Geiszler died in the streets on Hong Kong ten years ago, died in the lab ten years ago, died ten years ago, died; is dead; and now all that remains of him is an empty shell that bears his name, the memories of ten years of horror, and who’s eyes are haunted.

The thing is; all of this is untrue, so untrue, and yet, Hermann can feel these convictions echo through the Drift bond between them; coil around Newton’s mind and sink in, like liquid into a sponge.

Newton is saved; Newton is freed.

Newton is just as caged as ever.

No longer does he have bursts of passion, eyes glinting as he speaks, rapid-fire; nor does he turn up his music to near-deafening levels.

Mostly, now, he just…sleeps.

Eats, some, when Hermann manages to convince him to; emerges occasionally. Mostly, though, he stays in his room, sleeping. He’s been pardoned of all charges, and is free as the wind, legally, and yet he can barely seem to bring himself to breath.

It breaks Hermann’s heart to see.

So: then, this is how it begins; his attempt to bring Newton back to life.

“We should go to the park,” he says over diner; Newton picking at his plate, but awake and out of his room, finally, blinks at him slowly.

“…what?” he says, after a moment; staring at Hermann.

“Park,” Hermann says; chews on the inside of his lip. “Er—perhaps we could go together? At night, I mean—it’s been a long while since I had time to see the stars.” He’s rambling, an he knows it—this is the bit of him that’s so wholly Newton it makes his heart _ache._

Oh; this; how Newton looks at him like he’s said something alien, too strange to comprehend; sits stock-still. “Why?” he says, “it’s not like you _need_ to.”

“I—” Hermann swallows. “Perhaps you’re right,” he says; gaze drifting back down to his hands, clasped tight in his lap. “No—forget it altogether, it’s a foolish notion.”

They go back to eating in silence.

Still, though, the thought stays with him; at the back of his mind, late at night, when Newton’s whimpers of pain and thrashing drift through the thin wall between them, but there’s nothing Hermann can do because Newton keeps his door locked at night; and so he lays there, emotion thick in his throat and thinks, _God, I just want you to know peace._

Once, when Newton’s whimpers turn to screams, Hermann falls upon the door and forces it open; gathers Newton in his arms until, finally, he stops shaking and falls into a fitful sleep against him, fingers dug into the fabric of his night-shirt.

The next morning, he wakes in his own bed, and Newton’s room has a deadbolt installed.

It’s then that he finally breaks; spends a day planning for a trip; packs a basket full of fruits and sandwich materials and those disgusting pop-tarts Newton love(d) so much and two thermoses, one of tea and one of coffee; two sleeping-bags and a tent.

“We’re going camping,” Hermann says.

Newt gives him a flat stare. “ _Camping?_ ” he says.

“Trust me, you’re just as surprised as I am,” Hermann shoots back. “Now come help me load these things into the car, Newton.”

It’s…something; sitting together, silently, so close one could reach out and take the other’s hand in his, and around them, the soft sound of classical music emanates from the speakers. About halfway through, Hermann stops the car at a rest-stop; Newton elects to wait in the car.

When Hermann gets back, the other’s eating pretzels; expression flicking to panicked terror when he catches sight of Hermann. “I—”

“It’s quite alright, Newton,” Hermann reassures, “I was merely about to ask if you’d like some water.”

“…oh,” Newton says; after a moment, soft; and his gaze drops from Hermann’s. “Yes, please. They’re…kinda salty.”

Hermann huffs. “Here,” he says, “don’t drink it all in one go, or you’ll make yourself sick.”

“Thanks,” Newton mumbles, and takes the water-bottle.

* * *

They forgo the tent in the end; it’s not too cold to just lay on the grass in their sleeping-bags, the basket between them, watching the sunset fade. Hermann fails in his goal of not sneaking glances at Newton—but then, really, how _could_ he, when Newton looks, for perhaps the first time in a decade, at ease.

They drift off to sleep.

Hermann wakes in a cold sweat to Newton’s cries piercing to silent night.

“Newton? Newton!” He scrambles over; shakes the other awake. “Newton, say something—”

“Hermann,” Newton gasps; clawing at the front of his shirt, eyes wild. “Hermann, I—they’re _in_ me, Hermann, I can't—fuck, Hermann, I’m a monster, you need to get away—”

Hermann swallows, thickly; tightens his grip on the other. “Hush, Newton,” he murmurs, “you’re alright. Everything’s fine, now, dear.”

“I’m a monster,” Newton hiccoughs; clinging tightly back, “Hermann, fuck, I—” he stops; sobs into Hermann’s chest, head bowed.

“Oh, Newton,” Hermann murmurs, “even if that were true, you never met a monster you couldn’t love.”

There’s a startled laugh. “That’s the bit of me you got, huh,” Newton manages, “my love for monsters?”

“Of course,” Hermann replies, and rubs calming circles on his back until his shoulders stop shaking.

“Tell me about the stars,” Newton says; suddenly, and Hermann starts.

“Pardon?”

Newton coughs; sits up, pulling away from Hermann, face cast half in shadow. “You said you liked the stars,” he says. “I—nevermind, forget it, that was over twenty years ago—”

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” Hermann cuts in. “I was merely… _surprised._ ”

He swallows; moves and opens the basket. “Tea?” he asks. “I brought chamomile—you always used to say it helped you sleep.”

Newton shoots him a surprised look. “Uh—yeah,” he says, “that’d…that’d be nice. Thanks.”

Hermann pours him a cup; passes it, and doesn’t pull back like he wants to when Newton’s skin, icy-hot, brushes his; raises, instead, his gaze to the heavens. “See those three stars there?” he says, “the bright ones? If you connect them, they form Orion’s Belt.”

“The, uh, hunter, right?” Newton says; takes a sip of his tea.

“Yes, exactly,” Hermann nods.

It takes a bit; Hermann can barely remember half of the constellations—it’s been years since he’s been anywhere with a sky clear enough to see them, and he hasn’t truly devoted time to them since his childhood—, and Newton, by his side, barely speaks, at first.

Finally, though, Hermann feels the tension in him bleed away some; lulled into calm by the late hour and the tea, and finally, he lays down. “I’m not sleeping,” he says, stubbornly, but within minutes, he’s gone silent.

Hermann smiles softly and lays down as well.

They have sandwiches for breakfast, and Newton eats some pop-tarts; then, they walk the trail back to where Hermann parked the car.

The silence has settled between them, but it’s not tense, really; there’s a newfound sense of ease, somehow; tentative, but strong. When they’ve packed everything into the car, Hermann takes the steering wheel again. This time, though, he stretches out his hand over the divide between their seats; an offering of— _something._

Newt hesitates; takes Hermann’s hand in his, settles their clasped hands on the divider between them; turns on the radio, then turns it off again after flipping through all the stations and getting only adds and static. The road stretches out before them.

“Can we stop for a minute, please?”

Hermann glances over. “Do you need something?” he asks.

“No, just…” Newton glances down; rubs his fingers. “I wanted to do something, but I don’t want you to, like…crash the car, or anything.”

“Alright,” Hermann agrees; pulls over at the next shoulder, and stops the car; turns to look at Newton. “What is it.”

Newton hesitates; worries his lip for a moment, uncertainty on his face. “Can…can you kiss me?” he asks. “I mean—if you want to. ‘Cause I think you want to, and I want you to.”

Hermann blinks at him. “Oh,” he says, after a moment. “Well—yes, I’d rather like to.”

Newton gives a weak smile. “Okay,” he says, “great.” There’s a little something in his eyes; like hope and trepidation mixed together.

Hermann squeezes his hand. “It’s quite alright, Newton,” he reassures, and leans forward and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
